Bring Me Your Heart
by IAMGinny
Summary: The Kingdom of Gryffindor has fallen, and the new regime, the Rule of the Dark King has begun. Nothing remains of the Kingdom of Gryffindor, nothing except a single boy, locked away in what has been ironically dubbed Gryffindor Tower. But even he belongs to the King of Slytherin. Harry/Voldemort. Slash! Inexplicit Non-con/Dub-con. Medieval AU. Loosely inspired by Snow White.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so here it is! The first chapter of my new story, Bring Me Your Heart. Here is the full synopsis:**

_**The Kingdom of Gryffindor has fallen, and the new regime, the Rule of the Dark King has begun. Nothing remains of the Kingdom of Gryffindor, nothing except a single boy, locked away in what has been ironically dubbed Gryffindor Tower. But even he belongs to the King of Slytherin. Harry/Voldemort. Slash! Inexplicit Non-con/Dub-con. Medieval AU. Loosely inspired by Snow White (and another fic I can't remember the name of and can't find)**_

"_**Do you love him?" she asks him, half curiosity and half dread.**_

"_**I don't know."**_

"_**You don't know?"**_

"_**I'm not certain if I love him, or if the ability to love is just another thing he's taken from me."**_

**Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con elements, it won't be very explicit and there won't be full on lemons, but I still felt the need to put that in there. Stockholm syndrome elements (captor/captive mentality). Unofficial slavery. In no way do I condone any of these, they are simply for the sake of the story and will in no way be glorified. **

**SLASH! Don't like, don't read.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any part of the Harry Potter franchise.**

**So, here we go!**

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><p>Prologue: Mirror, Mirror<p>

That night was chaos, but Harry can't remember much of it.

_He is being roughly shaken awake by a dark man in a dark cloak. Everything is dark in his room tonight, and cold. Harry wonders why one of the servants haven't come in to poke the fire in the grate back to life, or to rekindle it. He isn't given much time to dwell on it, as the dark man is pushing him from the bed, and towards the door with something sharp against his back. It is only then that Harry realizes that the man is a guard, but not one of his, and something is terribly wrong._

_He thinks to ask the guard where they are going, but the words die in his throat as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, and the sword (it's a sword, he notes dully) is pressed more firmly against his back._

_The hallway is dark and cold as well, and Harry's foot brushes something. He looks down, and the bloodied, ashen face of one of his guards (a nice man named William who took him out to play in the garden often) staring back at him. Only he wasn't staring at Harry, he wasn't staring at all, because his eyes were still and glassy. Even at five years old, Harry knew what that meant._

_It seems to take forever to reach their destination. Harry no longer looks around, or especially down, to frightened of what he might see. Who he might see. And it is therefore a great relief to him when he is pushed into the throne room, and Lord Voldemort is the first person he sees._

"_Tom!" Harry pulls away from the dark man and runs for his beloved teacher, who catches him easily. Harry grins a relieved smile up at him, and Tom smiles back at him, his smile as calm and charming as it always is. He's safe now, Tom would take care of everything._

"_Ah, good. I'm so glad you're finally here Harry. Now the show can really start." There is something Harry can't place in Tom's tone, something behind the usual slight arrogance._

"_Tom please, leave him out of this, he's only a child." The voice is his grandfather's, but perhaps more importantly, it is the King's. And the King doesn't beg._

_Harry peers curiously over Tom's shoulder as he is carried away, finding his grandfather beside his mother and father (whom he hadn't noticed) on the floor. There are more guards in the strange dark uniforms (Harry realizes they are dark green upon closer inspection. Tom's color?) pointing swords and spears at them._

"_Tom?" Harry asks confusedly, fear trickling in._

"_It's all right Harry." The assurance is sweet, just as it always is when Tom assures him, but this time it doesn't easy his fears._

_Tom ascends the dais and makes himself comfortable on the throne. Harry wriggles on Tom's lap and whispers, "Tom, this is Papa's chair. We can't sit here!" He'd been punished quite severely for that once, sitting in Papa's chair without permission. He'd never done it again._

"_Oh, it's alright Harry. Your Papa's going to give it to me soon."_

_Before Harry could reply, his grandfather spoke. Or more roared, it was his King voice, as Harry called it, the same voice he used after Harry sat in his chair._

"_Enough Tom! Why have you done this?"_

"_Why?" Tom asked easily. "Well, because I can. Because I should. You're too old to rule old man, and the way you rule is old as well. This Kingdom needs new laws, a new ruler. And I believe I am the best Candidate for the job. A coup is rather messy though, you always have to be rid of the present royal family." As Tom said this, his arms tightened around Harry. Painfully._

"_Harry!"_

"_Sweetie!"_

_This is the first time his parents have spoken, and Harry realizes how terrible they look. His father is all black and blue, and his mother wore nothing but a thin robe, and she looks disheveled._

"_He's a harmless child Tom!"_

"_Yes, but he's also the only heir of Gryffindor."_

"_Please Tom!"_

"_You will call me My King! For that is what I am now, Dumbledore! The houses of Dumbledore and Potter will end here, tonight!"_

_Harry is crying. He is still in Tom's arms, too frightened to so much as move._

"_But it needn't! What risk will Harry be to your reign? Even when he reaches adulthood, no one has ever been able to best you in magic Tom. He. Is. No threat. To you."_

_Tom seems to consider it._

"_Beg. Beg for your grandson's life old man, and perhaps I shall spare it. If seeing you on your knees amuses me enough."_

"_Please Tom."_

"_My King." Tom chastised._

_Papa grits his teeth. "My King."_

"_Kiss my boots."_

_Papa does._

_Tom wipes the tears from Harry's cheeks tenderly, and motions a guard over._

"_Take my little lion to the north tower, the tallest. From this day forward it will be known as Gryffindor Tower, where the last of the Gryffindor line resides. It seems appropriate, doesn't it Harry?"_

_He's pulled away from the Throne room with his mother's scream of his name forever carved into his memory. It is the last time he sees her._

Harry's own scream awakens him, and for a moment, just a moment, he believes it is his mother's.

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><p>The demon that haunts the castle has returned once more, and Sybil knows that this time she will not be able to deny him. She is weak, she knows, and it is the boy in the tower who will pay for her weakness.<p>

He strolls in, calm and pleasant as ever. He is never the one who tortures her, she is not worthy to see him in such a state. No one in the castle is worthy to see him as anything other than the way he is in this moment, calm, collected, beautiful.

They say he keeps the boy in the tower blindfolded when he is taken to the Dark King's chambers, and that the boy has only seen the face of the man who rules his every move only once. Sybil knows this is not technically true, for the devil was his teacher before he became his captor.

"Hello, Sybil. And how are you today?"

His voice is honey, just as beautiful as the rest of him. She spits at him.

He chuckles, deep and low.

"Have you ever heard the story of Snow White?"

"No." her voice is cracked from disuse.

"Really? Well even you must have heard this part?

_Mirror, Mirror, on the wall . . ."_

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><p>And there's the prologue. Yes, I know the Grimm's fairytales didn't come out until the 1800s, but just ignore that for the purposes of this fic.<p>

So, tell me what you think!

-Ginny


	2. Chapter 1: Who Is the Most Powerful

**Hey guys, sorry this is so late, college is killing me already and I'm still in high school. Wow! I can't believe the response this has gotten! You guys are awesome!**

**Mrs. Jokers: Thanks so much! And I hope to keep both Harry and Voldemort as in character as possible. Voldemort's going to be more Tom Riddle-esque than canon Voldemort, and obviously Harry is going to be pretty OOC in the beginning, but his character will emerge more later in the story.**

**Belletristik Aura: Thanks for reviewing! This is more really loosely inspired by Snow White, taking what I want from both Snow White and canon HP. **

**Parvati-Blossom: thank you for reviewing and I didn't know that, so thank you **

**Thank you to:** **Mec15Potters, Scythe787, Vindictive John Dark Fantasy, Outofthisworldgal, KatzeIason69, FrostedMidnight, AyaseFanGirl, nono, marigouldtheflower, and all of the anons for reviewing!**

**Okay so I'm just going to make it clear that any sex in this is going to be inexplicit for two reasons 1) I'm not confident in my ability to write it 2) I want to focus on the plot, and I'm not really one that likes reading whole chapters of smut so I'm not going to write it excessively. Nevertheless, you will definitely get the picture from what I DO write (hopefully).**

**I don't own Harry Potter!**

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><p>Chapter 1: Who is the Most Powerful of them All?<p>

The Dark King has known for a while that he should have killed the boy when he was still a child. For when he had turned sixteen, the Seer foretold of a Power the boy possesses that would make him capable of taking back the Kingdom.

That would just not do. But killing the boy would be such a waste.

He had seen no signs of this great Power, the boy was docile and meek as could be. He never fights, never rebels. But his raw power was worrisome, the boy would perhaps surpass his Grandfather in time, if he were trained. Which he wasn't of course.

"Tell me Wench, what is this so called great Power? What would my docile little lion do to dethrone me?"

The seer gasps in pain, the wrack has not been kind to her. "I do not know! Please My King, I don't! I have no control over what my eyes do see!"

Voldemort hums, disappointment painting his handsome face. "You should not lie to me, my dear. If you would simply enlighten me as to how to . . . should we say, set precautions in place, all of this would end."

"I don't know!"

It seems she needs to stretch her muscles a bit more, if you would be so kind?" He murmurs to the dungeon master.

The wench screams.

"Love!"

The King raises his brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"He will defeat you—"

"With love?" Voldemort finishes derisively. He laughs. "Harry loves only me. Knows only me. But if it is his heart that gives him strength, I shall have that too."

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><p>He's found it. It is perfect. A Ritual that will allow him to have the boy's heart. Metaphorically of course. The heart of his being, his magic.<p>

It is an old ritual, meant for lovers. It allowed a sharing of magic. Voldemort could use it to boost his already unparalleled power, and drain the boy of his own. Harry will never be a threat.

The only dilemma is that Harry must be a willing participant. That in itself shouldn't be too hard, the boy was already like wet clay in his hands. And the boy loved him, that would make it all the easier.

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><p>Harry is shaken gently awake by Dobby, the small, mousy little slave that Master has put in charge of his care. He groans, knowing that being awakened at this hour must mean that the King wants him.<p>

Dobby is muttering out apologies as if he were not the one in charge, and Harry takes pity on him.

"It's alright Dobby, I'm getting up now."

Thank you, Harry sir."

"Dobby, I've told you, it's_ just_ Harry."

"I'm sorry, Sir-Harry."

Harry sighs, giving up the hopeless feat for now.

He's led by Dobby to the large, lavish bathing room. The chain is attached to the bands on his wrists are gold, purely for show. The King knows he won't try to escape. Everyone does.

Dobby helps him wash in the lightly scented water and lays out his nice clothes for him.

Harry dresses quickly in the white tunic and leggings, embroidered in gold and crimson. The colors taunt him. The shackled Prince of Gryffindor.

He's led down the familiar corridors of the castle to what were once his parent's chambers. The first time he was brought here, he thought of it as desecration. Now he doesn't think of it at all.

He doesn't expect Master to be in his rooms, and he isn't. He starts for the bedroom but a gentle tug at his sleeve from Dobby redirects him towards an armchair besides the fire. Harry goes without complaint; Master had never taken him in that particular armchair before. He makes himself comfortable, a luxury really only Dobby allows him. The others don't care for his comfort unless the King orders them, which he usually does, if he's present. And if Harry's been good.

Harry has been good for years now.

The soft silky blindfold is fixed over his eyes, leaving him with a hazy of green if he opens his eyes. He doesn't. The door shuts and Harry knows that Dobby has left.

Minutes pass and Harry feels that odd excitement bubble up in him, as it always does. Sometimes Harry wonders if the King doesn't keep him bound and blindfolded and waiting like this on purpose, but he dismisses it. The King has more important things to do than mess with Harry's head. Though he does take pleasure in that pastime occasionally

The door opens, unhurried footsteps on the hardwood floor. Harry can feel them with his bare feet on the floor. Large, warm hands twine in his hair and there are lips against his, Harry parts his lips willingly as a tongue pushes into his mouth.

The Dark Lord chuckles into the kiss, and their lips break apart much too soon for Harry's liking.

"You're eager today, my Little Lion."

Harry feels his cheeks heat and he ducks his head. He doesn't speak, he hasn't been given permission.

The hands have slid from his hair and down his shoulders to his wrists, with a click the chain detaches from his bands, leaving his hands free and mobile. Harry is surprised, though it isn't unheard of for Master to undo his bindings, it is rare.

His shackles are more bracelets than anything, thin bands of gold fitting snuggly against his wrists. They don't bother him anymore, neither does his collar.

What his Master does next takes the breath from his lungs.

At first Harry thinks that the King is simply threading his fingers through his hair, as he does often, but those large hands are inching under his blindfold and tugging it off.

Green eyes blink, disoriented from the sudden change in light. This has never happened before. This is new and unfamiliar and Harry doesn't like it.

Harry likes routine, and he can usually count on it from the King. He is a very orderly, very organized person.

Routine is good. Routine means that Harry knows what to expect. What to do.

Harry has no idea what to do.

He's fighting to keep his breathing under control. He needs to breathe. Breathing is good.

He keeps his head bowed. He knows better than to look.

This must be a test. He's a good boy. He won't look.

"Harry, look at me." The voice is low, calm. Just like then . . .

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><p><em>Harry doesn't understand what is going on. He's never been to the King's chambers. He never even really sees much of him anymore, now that the banquets and power-shows have died down, he isn't needed.<em>

_So why is he here?_

_Why is he being led to the bed and ordered to lie down? Why is he being chained to the headboard and blindfolded? Why?_

_But them the King is there, yelling at the guards for handling him so roughly, he makes one scream with his strange magic words for bruising him. His hands are freed and he is pulled against a warm, familiar chest, his tears are wiped away and comforting words are whispered to him._

_Harry knows that it is all planned, he _knows_ this. He doesn't care. He is frightened, and confused, and for God's sake he's only fourteen and he's been kept sequestered in a tower for most of his life. So for a moment, only a moment, he'll enjoy the King's comforting arm around him._

_For a moment, he'll forget it was the murderer of his parents holding him._

_For a moment it could be just Tom, his kind tutor, holding him and everything would be fine._

_He can almost believe it. Almost._

_The blindfold remains._

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><p>"Harry."<p>

He's startled enough by the voice to look up. And then all of the breath he'd spent such effort on calming fled him.

He hasn't laid eyes on that face since before that first day he was brought to Master's chambers. It hasn't changed. The same pale skin, the aristocratic features so characteristic of the Slytherin line: the high cheekbones, squared jaw, the dimple in his left cheek when he smirked, they are all the same.

The eyes are still the same disturbing crimson.

They are just as breathtaking as the rest of him.

The eyes are amused, the dimple deepens along with the smirk.

Harry blushes, ducks his head.

The King tips it back up. Brushes under Harry's eye with his thumb.

"I've missed those eyes."

Harry knows he must be the same shade as a tomato.

Master rises from where he'd been kneeling in front of Harry, settles himself in the armchair opposite.

Harry eyes him wearily, he hasn't been punished for looking, so he figures he's allowed.

"We have much to discuss, my Little Lion."

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><p><strong>So . . . tell me what you think! I apologize once again for the delay, I've been really busy.<strong>

**If any of you are artsy and would like to draw Harry for me, PM me and I'll email you. I'd draw something, but . . . let's just say my area of artistic talent lies in writing.**

**Until next time**

**-Ginny**


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